


God?  Hi, it's me again

by lightly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightly/pseuds/lightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sort of coda for Houses of the holy, I guess.  Sam and his faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God?  Hi, it's me again

God? Hi, it’s me again.

 

I.

 

Pastor Jim once told him that it didn’t matter where, how loud or how long he talked to God, God would always hear him and would always listen. This always comforted him in a way he couldn’t name, and yet he still felt stupid talking aloud to someone he couldn’t see.

So he would mouth the words, let them roll over his tongue. He’d feel them heavy in the back of his throat, but he would never give them enough voice for Dean to hear them. They’d be a silent whisper offered to the late hours of the night as he and Dean say huddled in the backseat of the impala, a blanket dragged up to their chins. Or he would quickly spit them out, kneeled by his bed – the way he’d seen kids on TV do. It would always be a fast action, though, and he would be up and curled in bed before Dean came out of the bathroom.

Dad used to smile when he watched him, but it was just a reflex motion and the smile never reached his eyes. After a while, he learned to hide it from Dad too, after all, the words were _about_ Dad and Dean, they weren’t _for_ Dad and Dean. They were his hopes and fears and his need to believe in something more than just a bad ass attitude and a gun to keep them safe.

 

II.

 

Over the years his faith shifted. His Church stopped being the lost back roads, or run down motels and ramshackle apartments. His prayers became a low rumble over soft skin when he mumbled them into the small of Jess’s back. They would leave light patches of gooseflesh in their wake and Jess would giggle and writhe beneath him and ask what he was saying.

He’d lie and say it was nothing important.

He would give her the watered down version of his hopes and fears. She’d listen quietly as they lay together, her head resting in the curve of his shoulder, one hand lightly tracing over the lines of the scars on his chest. Later, once his soft reverence had eased her to sleep, he would whisper the omitted words into her hair.

*

After the fire, a full grief filled year later and still he couldn’t bring himself to even pretend to say those same words out loud. Instead he would write them into the groove of Dean’s hip, carefully coaxing them out, drawing them over his brother like sigils, like they could protect him.

Dean never asked him what he was doing, which was good, because then he didn’t have to lie.

 

III.

 

“There’s so much evil out in the world, Dean, that I feel like I could drown in it.”

“I won’t let you drown, Sammy.”

 

IV.

 

“Oh God, please…” He was never really sure which God he was praying to, begging compassion from. It could have been one of the many deities he had been taught about, read about, researched. No matter what, it always came down to, “oh God, _please_.”

See, he knew that no matter how hard or how carefully Dean and Dad prepared for a job, the outcome would inevitably be an adrenaline fuelled rush of shoot first, maybe ask a question later if there was still something breathing.

“Oh God, please. Keep them safe”

He would get his answer in the fact they made it through another night. And then, when he wasn’t with them anymore, he would get the answer in a text – co ordinates just in case he decided to join them. Or it would be a phone call that was nothing more than a frustrated sigh.

“Oh God, _thank you_!”

 

V.

 

He saw right through Dean’s confession, but he was half way to drowning so he made a grab for the offered lifeline and he held on tight. Dean was here, he was solid and tangible, belief was not.

He let Dean’s words sooth him. He let his brother pull him down to the bed, pull off his shirt.

“I have faith in you, Sammy.” Dean said. “That’s all that matters.”

 

Sam just wished that faith was enough.

 

Fin


End file.
